by Matt Larkin
“Are you a temptress?”
Idunn laughed. “For certain. Are you tempted?”
For certain. “In so many ways.”
She laughed again, shaking her head. “If you are who you claim to be, I need a sign,” Odin said.
“Oh? Huh. Why?”
What in the gates of Hel was wrong with her? “Because you walk into my life, ask me to do great deeds, offer me great boons, and claim to be a goddess. Would you believe such a person?”
“Ahhh.” She smiled again, grabbing his hand and drawing him through the main gate, outside the town. “So you think I’m not really the same Idunn who gave your ancestors the spear. I understand. Why would you believe such a tale, after all? So instead, you turn to a stranger who takes you up a fell mountain, hunting a jotunn. And did that work out the way you wanted, did it sate the emptiness in your heart or solve your deepest worries?”
Odin frowned. Could she somehow already know about Ve? About what killing Ymir had cost him? He shook his head. “I want to trust you.”
“Wonderful! I want that too.”
Odin worked his jaw. How did a man deal with such a woman?
Idunn swirled around, finally pointing to the south, toward the Sudurberks. “So you climbed the peak with your foreign guide. What did you think of the mountain? Was it beautiful? Mysterious, unknowable?”
“I suppose so,” he said, following as she led him toward the forest on the edge of the town. “I didn’t think of it that way. I was there for a reason.”
“Ah, that’s the thing, my lord. You take it for granted because, for you, it’s always been this way, hasn’t it? Like this tree,” she said, putting her hand on one. “Is this a normal tree?”
Odin shrugged. As far as he knew it was. Some of the trees might have their own spirits within. In summer, the sparse greenery of the forest would thicken, hiding increased game and sometimes even fruits. The weaker plants never survived the hoar, but some did. Some always did. Life adapted.
Long before summer, he’d have to honor his oath to the Odlingar ghost. Not quite three moons, and here, away from the terror the ghost invoked, that suddenly seemed a very scant amount of time.
Idunn pressed a finger to her lips, kissed it, then pressed it against the tree. A ripple passed under the bark, and ice fell away, shaking free from the branches. Leaves sprouted—moons before they should have. And then, unbelievably, flowers began to burst from the branches. An explosion of white and pink and red petals erupted across the tree.
Odin had seen flowers on occasion, but this … He fell to his knees, mouth agape at the sight. A rainbow of colors. A warmth seemed to radiate from the trunk, from the flowers, from the very roots beneath the ground.
A long, cool breath escaped Idunn, and she steadied herself against the trunk.
“Wh-what is this sorcery?” Odin managed.
Idunn caught her breath a moment before answering. “What the world once looked like, before the Fimbulvinter. What it’s meant to look like.”
Fimbulvinter. He’d heard that term—what skalds called the time after the coming of the mists. This age. Then it was all true? Midgard had once been free of the mist? The world had known warmth, and the nightmares visited upon mankind—the trolls and draugar and aught else borne in the cold—were not meant to be.
“There was really a time before all this?” He waved his hand at the mist gathering just beyond the flames of his makeshift torch.
Idunn stared at something beyond his vision. When she spoke, her words came out slowly, albeit still with her unusual accent. “My grandfather died battling Hel, trying to keep her from spreading this mist across the world. He gave his life to stop the invasion of Niflheim, but much of the world of death had already spread into ours. And for nearly five thousand years, mankind has been left out in the cold. Most of the world looks like that …” she pointed first to the mist, then to the tree she’d set into bloom, “… when it should look like this.”
Thoughts ran through Odin’s mind too fast for him to call them to order. Five thousand winters … did that mean Idunn herself was so old? She looked to be no more than twenty-five. And they were true, the stories that said the mists came from Niflheim itself? Men always said that, but men were quick to claim Hel visited all the wrongs of the world on them. And vӧlvur were so caught up in their own mystery he’d never given too much credence to their claims. Which made him twice the fool. All his life he’d spurned the lessons and warnings Heidr tried to impart, certain she was the one who did not live in the real world.
Odin swallowed, trying to get a handle on the situation. “Then why not use your power to fix all the trees?”
Idunn laughed, the sound high and echoing, clean as a brook in summer. By now, others had gathered to stare at the tree, just out of earshot. Afraid, no doubt. As was he, truth be told. Such sorcery was beyond his ken. Idunn had not lied when she claimed to be of the Vanir.
“It takes too much out of me, sweet Odin. I gave part of my own life to do this. It’s different than sorcery. And even in a thousand lifetimes, I could never restore every tree in the world. They would die faster than I could finish my work. But there is a place where spring—true spring—reigns eternal.” She waited for his questioning look before continuing. “Vanaheim.”
“The islands of the Vanir … they’re real too?”
Idunn leaned close to his face, so close he could feel her warm breath. “Real enough. Like me. Do I seem like a dream to you?”
Odin swallowed and fell back a step. “A dream might be easier to believe.” He shook his head. “What do you want of me? Why me?”
“Excellent questions,” she said, holding up a finger. “As to the second, you’re cunning, ruthless, and courageous. You’ve the potential to be a great king. You could go far, if you stop staring at my breasts.”
Odin flushed. Right. Look at her eyes. Best not even consider other parts of her anatomy that had been on his mind. Odin rubbed his temples. “Can you, uh, give me a moment, please?”
“Of course. Sometimes we all need some time to think things through. Take as much time as you need. I’m immortal, so it doesn’t bother me. For certain, though, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. By the Tree, wandering the world you spend so much time alone, or hiding from different kinds of vaettir, trolls, and men of ill intent.”
Odin stopped listening to her babble. She had spoken the truth. She truly was a goddess. No vӧlva could have wrought the miracle with that tree. And if that much was true, then, too, must her tale about the apples be. Apples of immortality.
“… because down in the far south, some places are still warm—not warm like Vanaheim, but warmer than here. And besides, my ancestors came from islands in—”
Odin cleared his throat. “Idunn.”
She quirked a half smile. “Sorry. Was I rambling? I get lonely out here.”
“My brother, Ve,” Odin said. “He …”
Idunn’s face fell a little. “I spoke with him. The mists are deep inside him now.”
“And can the apple stop him from going mist-mad?”
Idunn pursed her lips. “An apple would certainly slow the process.”
“Then give him the apple, please, I beg you.”
Idunn glanced at the gathering crowd, then once again took Odin’s hand and led him deeper into the forest. They wandered in silence a time, Idunn’s steps slow, a little unsteady. She did seem weakened, drained. No wonder she he had hesitated to provide any demonstration of her power.
She leaned against a tree and blew out a breath. “I have an apple for you, and enough for those closest to you. But I already gave you my terms. You must make an oath to become king and to fulfill my wish once you have done so.”
Odin clenched his fists at his side. For a brief instant he imagined himself strangling the woman. Goddess. No, even if he could have killed her—and with her power, who knew—he was not that kind of man. He had to be worthy of his father. With a growl, he unclenched his
fists and stepped close to her. “So be it. I swear it.”
“Swear an oath you cannot break.”
Odin leaned a hand against the tree, placing his face a breath away from hers. “I swear on my father’s spear, Gungnir, and upon my father’s name, Borr. I will make myself king, and I will grant you any favor within my power. Now, give me the fucking apples!”
She ran a finger over his cheek, and he trembled. Then she pushed him gently backward. She turned and knelt, then dug away at snow piled in front of the tree’s roots until she revealed a hollow inside. From this, she drew forth a basket filled with apples that shimmered like gold. Even from the basket, their sweet scent wafted toward him, making his mouth water.
Idunn ran her fingertips over the apples before selecting one and offering it to him. “You will eat first; then I will take one to Ve.”
His hand closed around the apple. Warmth filled his palm.
“Come,” Idunn said. “Eat just one. And taste apotheosis.”
Odin’s breath had grown ragged. His heart pounded as he raised an apple to his lips. There would be no turning back. He didn’t know what apotheosis meant, but if this worked, he would have to become a king. He would become more than a king. He would become a god. A thousand generations would praise his name. And by Hel, he’d be there to witness those thousand generations. Immortal as Idunn.
To be king of all the Aesir … What glory. What honor to his father. What pride. Heidr had so often tried to warn him of the cost of his pride, and he had never listened.
But he had sworn an oath. He had to save Ve.
Slowly he bit down. Juice flowed over his tongue. Sweeter than any fruit he’d ever tasted. Sweet and bitter and spicy all at once. He swallowed, almost able to feel the bits flooding through his nerves. Explosions of sensation cascaded along his body, and he became only dimly aware he continued to eat. It was like eating the essence of life. Better than mead or sex or aught he’d ever known.
Stars swarmed before his eyes, and he fell on his back, watching as the mists cleared and revealed the glorious sun beyond. Midgard itself pulsed with life, as did every being on it. And he could feel them all. He shuddered in ecstasy until he had to close his eyes against the flood of sensations.
When he opened his eyes, he was looking up at Idunn, lying with his head in her lap.
“What happened?” he mumbled.
She stroked his hair. “You are changed now.”
His pulse was pounding, his loins throbbing. Everything seemed apt to burst around him. Fire coursed through his veins as he rolled over, forced himself to stand.
“Ve?”
Idunn stood as well. “I will take him an apple.”
“Vili too.” Odin groaned. The world was spinning around him.
“That will leave you few apples left. Choose your remaining companions carefully, Odin.”
He waved the comment away, panting, stumbling back toward the town. Gods! What was happening to him. Ethereal colors flittered at the edge of his vision. His gut had become a roil, twisting, writhing. His stones had become pulsing flames, so hot they seemed apt to burn through his trousers.
In the town, a riot of sensation coursed over him, the smells, the laughter, the taste in the air of smoke and food and sex. Jorunn was taking the drinking horn again. Odin staggered toward her, shoved the horn away, and kissed her. Her tongue was in his mouth, exploring, driving his senses to explode. Unable to stand it a moment longer, he grabbed the girl, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her off to his hall.
She giggled as he shouldered his way toward his bed. Wide-eyed slaves gawked a moment. It didn’t matter. Odin yanked the girl’s dress away, fumbled with his own trousers so clumsily he tore the laces.
Not sure whether he wanted to moan, laugh, or cry, he entered her. Part of him knew he used her more roughly than was his habit, but she only clutched him tighter. Gods, he couldn’t get enough.
He would never, ever have enough.
Three times he took her, until she protested she could handle no more.
Then he beckoned one of the slave girls over to join them.
18
Odin shot awake at the sound of the howl. It echoed through the town like a cry from Hel, setting all the hairs on his neck on end. The girl on his chest clutched her arms around his waist.
“My lord?”
Odin pushed her aside and snatched his trousers and a fur cloak. The screams began before he’d even finished fastening it with his brooch. Odin stumbled from the hall in time to see a massive black wolf leap onto a shieldmaiden and tear her apart. Its jaws ripped through her throat and shredded her flesh.
His spear. He needed his spear. He scrambled past the feeding wolf, struggling to reach Gungnir, unable to look away from the gruesome sight. Her death was his fault. He’d left his spear standing in the snow, a symbol of his pride. A symbol of his vanity.
A wolf circled in front of him, cutting him off. It turned its head toward Odin’s spear, then back at him. And it pulled its lips back in a snarl.
Hel. It knew.
These weren’t just wolves. Their eyes had the intelligence of men. These were varulfur. And the vӧlva had been right. This celebration had caught their attention.
Someone shrieked in agony behind Odin. He kept his eyes locked on the wolf man. It advanced on him with slow deliberateness, a fell gleam in its eyes. Odin could tell it knew he was unarmed and was toying with him.
A man charged from the far side of the nearest tent, bellowing a war cry, sword high over his head. Tyr hadn’t had time for armor or even clothes. Blood drenched him from the neck down—no little of it his own, judging from the bite on his arm.
The varulfur spun, leaping aside as Tyr swept his sword downward.
“My lord! Go!”
Odin nodded at his man. Tyr could take care of himself. There was no finer warrior among the Aesir. And the distraction gave Odin just enough time to reach Gungnir. He ran for it, skidding to a stop as his hand wrapped around the shaft. An immediate power filled him. His strength and fury amplified. The rage of the dragon coursed through his veins. These wolves had picked the wrong town.
Spear raised over his head, Odin roared a challenge to any varulf foolish enough to accept. Moments later, a pair of them bounded toward him. No single challenge. So be it. He whipped the spear around, turning about and using its length to keep both wolves at bay. One snapped at him. A twist of his wrist slashed Gungnir’s blade across the beast’s snout. The werewolf yelped in pain and fell to the snow, pawing at its half-severed nose.
The other varulf jumped for him. Odin snapped the butt of his spear into its throat. The wolf fell, gagging.
“I am Odin, jarl of the Wodanar! And I send you to Hel, shapeshifter!” He thrust his spear straight down. It pierced right through the wolf and into the ground. The creature gurgled, then began a slow shift back into man form.
A woman screamed as Odin yanked Gungnir free. That had come from the guest house he’d given Idunn. It had to be fifty feet away. Odin took off at a sprint, but it would be too late before he got there. He was human, and he’d never cover that distance before the varulf devoured her.
His breath came in shallow gasps, the cold stinging his lungs. He had to try.
He barged into the house in time to see a wolf jump at Idunn.
“No!” Odin hefted Gungnir for a throw.
The wolf passed through Idunn’s form, which shuddered then vanished.
Odin’s jaw fell open, the spear forgotten in his hand. Sorcery?
The wolf shook its head, sniffed the room, then turned toward the bed. Odin followed its gaze to a slight shimmer in the air, trembling among the covers.
The wolf leapt at the shimmer. Odin flung Gungnir. It flew fast as ever, impacting the wolf midair. The varulf crumpled and fell, a splatter of blood coating the shimmer before vanishing. Odin strode over to the wolf, now whimpering on the ground, planted his foot on its head, and yanked his spear free. The beast stille
d and transformed back into a man.
“Idunn?”
“Hmm,” her voice answered, coming from the direction of the bed. A heartbeat later, the shimmer fell away like a discarded shawl, revealing the woman beneath. Blood coated her face and dress, but it looked to be all from the varulf.
“Are you harmed, my lady?”
“No. I … I’m fine. Thank you. By the Tree, I should have known it could smell me, what with that wolf spirit inside it. A foolish mistake that could well have cost me my life.”
Dare he leave Idunn alone? Odin backed toward the house’s threshold but hesitated there.
“Go,” she said, clearly reading his unease. “I’ve crossed from one side of Midgard to the other, foolish mistakes notwithstanding. I can take care of myself.”
The sorcery. Odin nodded to her and darted out into the snow. The town had become a slaughter. Dozens of warriors and shieldmaidens lay wounded or dying. What a fool he’d been to disobey Heidr. She’d always urged caution, insisted the Aesir remain quiet and avoid attention. And he’d ignored her wisdom and thought her the fool for wasting her life in fear. She would know what to do now.
He started for her but caught Ve standing around, watching the varulfur with a blank expression on his face. Gods, not now. They could not afford this tonight. Odin slapped him on the shoulder. “Little brother!”
Ve turned toward him, eyes a bit too wide. For a brief instant they glimmered red. It was just a reflection of the fire. Had to be.
“Arm yourself, Ve!” Odin shouted, then took off running again.
He had to find Heidr, ensure her safety. Maybe her witchcraft could drive away these wolves. He bypassed several fights against the varulfur. Humankind might be disadvantaged against their superior strength and speed, but he had to—
A bear roared, a swipe of his claws taking off the muzzle of one wolf as another leapt onto his back. The Wodanar had their own shapeshifter, and Vili would help even the odds. Odin jumped into the air and flung Gungnir, impaling the wolf on his brother’s back. The creature fell in a heap. Odin rushed over, yanked the spear free, and kept going.